


The Cut That Always Bleeds

by Brigadier_Blue



Category: Into the Badlands (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Castor Lives, Character Death Fix, Death, Declarations Of Love, Dialogue, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ending Fix, Everybody Lives, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, God Made Me Do It, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Killing, Kissing, Love, No Smut, Nobody is Dead, Other, Sad and Happy, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, not sure why his death affected me so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigadier_Blue/pseuds/Brigadier_Blue
Summary: You are one of Pilgrim’s Acolytes alongside Castor and Nix.
Relationships: Castor x Reader, Castor x You, Castor/Reader, Castor/You
Kudos: 5





	The Cut That Always Bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all, you can find me on Tumblr at dean-charles-chapman, I post my fics there as well :) Anyways, Castor is a hottie and no one writes for him so here we are.

Out of the corner of your eye you see another flash of tarnished silver, barely missing your cheek as you dodge the blade. You spin around and impale your attacker, immediately moving on to the next as their body slides off your sword onto the blood-stained ground. Everything around you is a blur of crimson and black, your mind clouded by the heat of battle as you slice through body after body, letting the Gift control your actions and allowing the power pulsing through your veins to fill you to the brim. Intermingled with the scent of blood and sweat is the stench of the muddy riverbed you are fighting on, the soft brown earth now pitted with deep score marks and pools of blood as more and more die at the hands of you and the other Dark Ones. The mud makes fighting more difficult, causing your feet to slip trying to find stability as you twist and leap among the slashing weapons, but it is not nearly as much of an inconvenience to you as it is to your opponents. Your Gift makes you stronger and more agile than them, so you use the slippery terrain to your advantage, only touching the ground for a moment before leaping up again and slashing through the armor of the fighters surrounding you as they clumsily attempt to reach you with their swords.

You are battling a group of pirates who you had unfortunately crossed paths with at a bend in the river on your journey to find Azra, and despite you being vastly outnumbered, they are already on the verge of surrender. You quickly scan your surroundings to count the number of remaining pirates, and feel a wave of triumph as you see that there are only about twelve still on their feet. This is going to be easy, you think to yourself as you watch Nix slit the throat of a bearded man wielding a studded club. Your eyes flash to Castor as he throws off a large, heavily armored pirate who had lunged at him from behind and sinks his blade deep into the man’s chest, killing him instantly. He looks back at you and you meet his gaze, twitching an eyebrow upwards in a silent question. He responds with a small nod and is again swept up into battle with a lithe woman wearing a cape made of various skins. After the silent confirmation that he doesn’t need your help, you move to join Nix in extinguishing the surviving pirates. The two of you easily overpower them, and in no more than 30 seconds you stand in the center of a ring of dead bodies, fresh blood spattered across your skin. You can feel it dripping like sweat from your forehead and arms, and you blink it away from your eyes with a grimace. Fighting comes naturally to you, and you aren’t bothered by the violence, but you will never enjoy the lingering scent and taste of blood on your skin. No matter how much you scrub yourself down, you doubt you will ever feel truly clean again.

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps approaching and see Pilgrim slowly walking towards the three of you from the roadside where he had stopped the convoy of vehicles. Nix and Castor stand at either side of you as Pilgrim sweeps his gaze over the battle scene. 

“Well done, my children. You have protected the lives of hundreds of our followers today, and the route of this river will lead our people to better lands. Now go inside, you must rest. We have a long journey ahead of us,” he speaks in a low, rumbling voice.

The three of you dip your heads respectfully and follow him back to the road, leaving behind the bodies of the pirates to enrich the soil and soak the earth with their blood.

You feel Castor’s arm brush against yours and you catch his eye again, shooting him a soft smile. It falters however when you notice the blood trickling from the side of his face. The fresh cut on his cheek from activating his Gift is still bleeding, and you have to fight the urge to wipe it off. You glance down at your own cut, already healed and blending with the hundreds of other scars across your arms. This only deepens your concern, and you look back up at Castor, checking for other injuries. He gives you a questioning smile and you shake your head, not wanting to reveal your worries.

In the past few weeks you had noticed Castor faltering more often during fights, his Gift disappearing for a moment and his eyes clearing to reveal the striking blue that belonged to his gentler side. That side didn’t belong in battle, and you never missed the flash of panic that swept through them as he realized what was happening. It scared you more than you wanted to admit, and you could tell he was trying hard to hide his own fear. He would never confess to being injured; he was always so stubborn and strong, and you knew that pity from you or Nix would only anger him.

You reach the front of the convoy and climb into the back of Pilgrim’s car, immediately feeling comforted by the colorful fabrics that surround you on all sides and wrap your mind in a calming blend of blue and purple. Castor brushes past you through the curtains enveloping the mouth of your makeshift room and you sit on the cushioned bench, running your hands over the beads woven into the pillows. Sunlight filters into the otherwise dark room from the single window at the back of the car, staining your faces yellow through the strips of colored glass adorning the opening. 

Nix stays beside Pilgrim at the front of the car to keep watch, and you shift in your seat to face Castor. He has taken his usual spot on the bench nearest to the window and is staring out the glass with a tense expression, watching the hundreds of other cars trailing after you. You furrow your brows, trying to pick up on any obvious signs of pain and promising to yourself that you will keep a better eye on him in future battles whether he likes it or not.

Castor blinks and turns his head to look back at you, awoken from his daze by the feeling of your eyes on him. You don’t look away, instead meeting his piercing blue stare with a knowing expression. He frowns and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the harsh words that will likely follow you voicing your concerns over him.

“I can tell when you’re hurt, Castor,” you say pointedly, your eyes holding him frozen in place on the bench.

“I’m fine,” his frown deepens, the crease between his brows becoming more prominent.

“No, you’re not. Your cut should have healed by now, and I’ve never seen you this tired after a battle,” you press, moving to sit beside him so he can’t ignore you.

“I must’ve just cut myself deeper than usual by accident. It’s nothing,” he brushes you off, wiping at his cheek. His hand does nothing but smear more red streaks across his face, and you gently grab his wrist, stopping him.

“Y/N-” he gives you a warning look as you bring your hand to his cheek, pressing a finger to the cut and closing your eyes. You search inside you for the healing energy that the Gift has blessed you with, and you focus on drawing it out and spreading it to the tips of your fingers. You feel it climb to the surface, glowing beneath your skin and burning the pads of your fingers as you brush them against his face and close the angry red line that mars his pale features. You feel your own life energy seeping from your hand into him and filling his muscles with a rejuvenating strength. You breathe out a deep sigh and open your eyes, suddenly feeling tired and lightheaded. The effects of using the Gift to heal someone else dampen your senses and your hand falls from Castor’s cheek to your lap.

Castor is looking at you with a mixture of anger and concern, and you reach out a hand to search for his, your fingers trembling from the effort of using your powers. 

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he says sharply, but his tone is contradicted by the softness in which he allows you to hold his hand, his palm warm underneath yours.

“I’ll do it as many times as I have to,” you reply, eyelids fluttering as you fight the darkness that creeps into the corners of your vision, your ears ringing slightly as you try to focus on your surroundings.

“Please, Y/N. You can’t use your Gift to heal others, it takes too much of your energy. Azra is still a long ways away and I’m not going there without you,” his glare softens and he tightens his grip on your hand, causing you to blink up at him in surprise.

“What do you mean? I’m stronger than I look, Cass. There’s no way I’m letting you see Azra without me,” you tease, your heart warming as his mouth twitches into a smile at the nickname.

“I know you are, but I don’t need you wasting your Gift on me. I’m fine, really,” his mouth returns to the serious frown that you had grown used to over the past few months.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Cass, I can help you, I-,” your voice raises, and he turns to you and takes both of your hands, his firm expression making you stop mid sentence.

“I’m telling the truth. I’ve spoken with Pilgrim and he said that as long as I don’t overuse my Gift, I’ll be okay. You worry too much, Y/N. Not everything is as bad as it seems.”

“Alright…but Pilgrim doesn’t know everything about the Gift, even if he can control ours. He doesn’t have it, and as long as I do I’m going to use it to help people,” you concede after a pause, your limbs growing heavy against the cushions as your body begins to succumb to the fatigue of overexerting your powers.

Castor smiles softly, “I know, you’ve never been a selfish person. But don’t doubt Pilgrim, if he hears you saying things like that he won’t be very forgiving.”

You nod and rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes close as sleep washes over you and clouds your mind. As if you lived on another plane of existence, you feel your body being moved and pillows placed under you in the fog of your unconsciousness. A hand brushes across your forehead and you drift even further into your dreams, the low rumble of the engine below you easing you into a world where there is nothing but a vast, welcoming darkness.

You are awakened by a loud hissing coming from the vehicle, and you struggle to sit up, your head bumping against the wall of the car as it lurches across the uneven landscape. A whisper of angry, hushed voices drifts into your ears from the front of the car, and you glance around the interior, realizing that you are alone in the small room. 

“Castor, you must listen to me. You, Nix, and Y/N were given the Gift by the power of the Gods, and your life is not your own anymore. We must all serve a greater purpose; even I have no control over what I do, it simply must be done. We cannot have any distractions, do you understand, my boy?” you recognize the deep voice of Pilgrim, and you strain to hear what he is talking about.

“…Yes, Pilgrim.” A quiet response from Castor.

What did Pilgrim mean by that? you think to yourself, a seed of worry planting inside your gut and wedging itself between your ribs like a burr.

The car releases another strident hiss and you feel the engine shudder violently, the vehicle crawling to a stop. You get up and lean out of the threshold, casting a confused glance towards Castor, who is now standing outside the car beside Nix and Pilgrim. He shrugs in response and walks to the rear of the automobile to find the source of the hissing, and you hop off of the stalled machine, following him.

As you pass you feel Pilgrim’s eyes boring into you, and when you meet them, you are greeted with an emotion that makes the doubt in your stomach grow and twist painfully. You push it back down and focus on the task at hand, kneeling beside Castor to inspect the wheels.

“What was that about?” you whisper to him, glancing back towards Pilgrim.

“What? Oh, nothing important. He was just reminding me to keep a lookout for more pirates, they run their boats all along this river,” he doesn’t meet your eyes and you bite back an angry retort. 

Bullshit. Why is he lying to me all of a sudden? You shift your weight on your heels and frown as you continue to examine the car, angry at Castor for hiding things from you. He used to tell you everything; you were closer with him than any of the other members of Pilgrim’s group. The two of you had been together since you could hardly lift a sword, with Nix joining shortly after you began training. You could read him better than anyone, but he had been shutting you out at every mention of the Gift, and as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t force him to talk if he wasn’t willing. 

Your hand runs over a large tear in the front left tire, and you can feel a steady stream of air coming from the opening. “I found what caused the car to stop,” you call back to Castor, standing and brushing the dirt from your legs.

“What is it?” he calls back, getting the box of tools from inside.

“We’ve torn one of the tires. We’re going to have to patch it up unless we find a spare in this wasteland.”

“There’s tape in here somewhere, show me the hole,” he leans down next to you, repeating your action of running a hand over the rough wheel. He digs around in the toolkit for a few moments before pulling out a thick roll of black tape. You leave him to fix the tire and approach Pilgrim, contemplating how to ask him about his earlier conversation with Castor.

“How are you, Dear One?” he greets you, his deep, commanding voice filling your head and reminding you of why Castor had warned you not to question him.

“I’m fine, Pilgrim, although I can’t say the same about Castor. I know he talked to you, but are you sure that nothing is wrong?” His gaze hardens at your inquiry, and you swallow your next breath.

“Are you questioning my knowledge of the Gift, child?”

“Of course not, Pilgrim. I’m only worried for Castor’s health.”

“Then you must believe what he has told you. Nothing is amiss, and the more you use your energy for others the less likely you will be to rise to a higher power when the time comes. Do not worry about Castor, Fate will ensure his recovery in time. We must all place our focus on reaching Azra,” he turns away, leaving you to try and make sense of what he had said. 

Castor must have told him you had used your Gift to heal him, otherwise why would Pilgrim have mentioned it? You feel your frustration bubbling up inside you as you try to understand why Castor is acting so strange. As if you had summoned it, his voice cuts through your thoughts, “The tires’ fixed, we should leave before someone catches up to us.”

Pilgrim nods and thanks him for fixing the wheel, and you follow Nix back into the car. Castor sits across from you rather than at his usual place near the window and forces you to look at him, a look of confusion written across his features.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his large blue eyes filled with so much concern that you have to suppress the shudder that accompanies the increase in your heart rate.

“Nothing,” you respond shortly, not wanting to discuss your feelings in front of Nix.

“You grumpy ‘cause you’re hungry?” he smirks slightly, kicking your foot from where he is sitting. You can’t help but grin in return, raising your legs to rest your feet opposite you on the bench.

“Feels like I haven’t eaten in weeks,” he groans, grabbing your ankles and placing your feet on top of his lap. You poke out a toe and prod his stomach, earning a snort of laughter from the boy.

“Yeah, well rabbit stew must not be as filling as Cressida claims it to be,” you retort, feeling a twinge of hunger in your own stomach at the thought of food.

“Since you two are complaining so much, why don’t you ask Pilgrim to let us hunt at the next stop?” Nix speaks up from her spot in the corner, smiling at Castor’s antics.

“I will, but that won’t be till dark, and we haven’t got many torches left,” Castor complains, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the strip of bare skin above your ankle.

Your body relaxes at the gentle touch, but a sudden and intense wave of emotion sparks inside your heart, and the path of his fingertip burns where it meets your skin. You hate when this happens. You hate how much he affects you; you don’t want to recognize just how strongly you wish you could run away from the Badlands and live a peaceful, quiet life with him. A life without blood caked beneath your nails and new scars every day, one without killing innocent people just to protect the dreams of Gods you have never even seen. Castor would do something so small, a simple gesture of kindness or even a smile, and it would leave you feeling as if you had run a marathon given the speed of your heartbeat and the heat in your cheeks.

You need to distract yourself from your own thoughts, so you reinsert yourself into Nix and Castor’s conversation about food. “We could catch fish in the river,” you suggest, leaning back into the soft velvet of the bench. Castor perks up at the idea, and Nix murmurs in agreement. You don’t have poles or nets, but the three of you are well trained with swords and you figure you could easily stab them from the water.

…

“It’s fucking freezing!” Castor shouts from the water, knee deep in the lazily moving river.

“If you can handle an entire army, you should be able to survive some cold water,” you laugh, pulling your socks off from where you stand at the edge of the riverbank.

“Just wait till you feel it, I’d take an army any day,” he mutters, retreating to the shore to fetch his sword.

You test the temperature with the tip of your foot, grimacing as the icy water slides between your toes and sends shocks to the core of your body. It feels like fresh snow-melt, and you wish you had a fishing pole instead of a sword. You peel off your faded tights, noticing the blood that had crept beneath the thin fabric and left streaks along your legs, and begin unbuckling the many straps of your armor. Soon you are wearing only your underwear and a thin undershirt, balling up the rest of your layers and leaving them beside your shoes to wash later. You hadn’t realized how much blood you had picked up during battle, but now all you can think about is washing it off, wanting desperately to see the clean, smooth skin that hid beneath the spatters of red.

Castor and Nix finish changing and follow you to the widest section of the river, swords in hand. Nix wears the same thing as you, her lean muscles more prominent without her armor covering them, and Castor has taken off his shirt and armor, leaving him in only his tight pants that have been rolled up to the knee. The three of you don’t have many clothes, so you take good care of what you do own, and hope that Pilgrim’s promise of Azra will also lead to a more comfortable life where you won’t need to wear the same bloodstained armor for months.

You stand waist deep in the water, your body shivering in retaliation to the freezing current. You glance back at Castor, who hisses as the water reaches his thighs. Nix wades past you to the deepest area, holding her sword above the murky water in preparation. You glance down, searching for flashes of life among the mud and algae that surround your feet. You feel something brush against your calf and you let out a surprised yelp at the sudden contact. Castor’s head whips up to look at you, making sure the noise was not one of pain. You laugh at your own outburst, and the tension in his shoulders releases at the sound. 

You hear a loud splash and a satisfied grunt as Nix pulls her sword from the water, a large fish dangling from the blade. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you lean down in the abutting water to try and catch a glimpse of fins. A small movement catches your eye and you follow it, noticing the familiar shape of a tail. You hold your breath and slowly move your sword below the current, trying not to disrupt the surface of the water. The shape moves again, this time revealing just how large the creature you are standing over is. You motion for Castor to come towards you, pressing a finger to your lips in a silent warning to stay quiet. He obliges, moving slowly through the water to your side, sword poised above him.

“We’ll have a feast if we catch this one,” you whisper, lowering yourself slowly into the water and closing the distance between you and the scaled creature below.

“Be careful, Y/N. We don’t know what else might be down there,” he whispers in return, following your lead and creeping closer to the animal.

“Now who’s worrying too much?” you smirk, your blade inches from the large fish.

Castor doesn’t respond, and you take the opportunity to stab swiftly down at the creature, feeling a solid impact as your sword sinks into flesh. Castor brings his own blade down, and the creature begins to writhe beneath you, attempting to escape your grasp.

“Watch the head, I don’t know if this thing’s got teeth,” you growl to Castor against the thrashing body, trying to dislodge your sword from the thick scales. A sharp pain suddenly invades your lower half and you look down, your gaze greeted by two menacing yellow eyes. The face of the creature stares up at you, it’s needle-like fangs sinking into your ankle and instantly drawing blood.

“Shit, never mind, it definitely has teeth,” you fight back a pained groan as the animal releases you from it’s mouth, bringing it’s head back to strike again.

“Y/N? Are you okay, did it bite you?” Castor’s eyes are immediately searching your face for signs of pain, and he watches as your returning gaze goes black.

Your Gift is activated by the small injury, and your mind goes blank as your body stiffens and your muscles tighten in preparation for battle.

You block out everything else around you, your only intent being to kill the serpent-like creature at the end of your sword. You hear a muffled protest from someone at your side, but you ignore it and lash out at the animal, your sword striking the fish’s long body over and over. You lose sight of which end is the head and continue striking blindly at the creature, stopping only when you notice the water turning a dull red. You look down, but find only mossy gravel and broken scales. Your head slowly clears and your eyes return to their normal color, and you look around in confusion for the large fish. That’s when you hear a low groan from beside you and you find the true source of the blood that billows out into the water.

Castor is bent over, clutching onto a distraught Nix as he fumbles in the water. His bare shoulder seeps blood, a bite mark distinctly circling his chest and arm. You stare in shock and confusion, his heavy breaths hanging in the air as you feel guilt swell in your chest.

“C-Cass, what happened? I thought I killed it, how-” you stumble, rushing to his side.

“The damn thing escaped, but not before taking a chunk of my shoulder,” he grinds out, his lips twitching into a sarcastic smile but his face growing pale.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Nix says forcefully, taking his arm and guiding him to the bank of the river.

You follow, your heart in your throat and your mind spinning. You had only looked away for a few seconds during the time that your Gift had activated, how had you not noticed Castor getting hurt? You can’t shake the feeling of guilt that weighs on you as you watch Castor gingerly lower himself onto the grass beside the water. You had promised yourself you would protect him, and you had just been the reason he got hurt. Nix’s voice cuts through your thoughts, ordering you to get a bandage from her pack. You rush to where her things are piled beside yours and shakily dig out a long strip of gauze.

You quietly sit next to Castor, watching as Nix cleans the blood from his shoulder using her water canteen. You realize with a start that despite Castor being injured, his eyes are still a clear blue.

“Castor, your Gift…why hasn’t it activated?” you look at him with worry, seeing the same fear reflected in his watery eyes.

“I-I don’t know,” he says softly, wincing at the end of the sentence as Nix presses the gauze to his wound.

“I’m going to fetch Cressida, she’ll give you something to help,” Nix offers, passing you the bandage. You wrap it around his arm, feeling him tense under your touch. You ease the gauze around his neck to secure it and tie a knot in the back, your hands lingering on his bare skin. You can feel the warmth of it beneath the droplets of icy water that run down his back, and you watch as goosebumps break out across his pale skin.

“Thanks,” he mutters, flexing his arm and breathing out a small sigh.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me, it’s my fault you got hurt,” you say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“What do you mean? Y/N, this wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t control it,” he says, reaching out to touch the scabs forming on your ankle where you had been bitten.

“I should have- Castor, if I can’t heal you, I need to make sure you don’t get hurt. You’re sick, just admit it,” you plead, looking back up at him. The emotion in his eyes startles you, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Look, I don’t know why my Gift isn’t working, but I promise I’ll be fine. I’m already feeling better, I just need to rest,” he says, exhaustion evident in his gaze. Knowing better than to begin another argument, you nod reluctantly and help him up, retrieving both of your clothes and leading him back to the car. Nix stands waiting for you at the door, dressed and holding the fish she had caught earlier. You help Castor climb into the back, holding onto his side so he doesn’t have to use his injured arm. Nix brings out a small pouch from her pocket, handing it to Castor as he lies down on the cushions.

“Cressida says this will help fight infection,” she tells him as he pulls the strings of the bag, letting it fall open in his shaky palm.

You watch him swallow whatever the High Priestess had given him and notice how the veins running along his wrists and neck have become more prominent. Your chest tightens at the signs of sickness, and you instinctively place a hand on his forehead to feel for a fever. He stares at you in slight surprise, and you retract your hand abruptly, heat crawling to your cheeks at the realization of what you had done.

“Sorry, you just looked pale, I thought you might have a fever,” you scramble as your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but he gives you a soft look and you go quiet. The sun reflecting into the small room from the tinted window provides a halo around him, warming his features and making his pale blue irises morph into the cerulean calmness of the ocean. His hand reaches for yours again, and you allow him to bring it back up to his face.

He presses your palm to his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut as you stroke your thumb across the raised scars. Your body is completely still as you trace his jawbone with your fingertips, but inside your heart feels like it is beating out of your chest as flames lick at your skin and heat your blood. Castor breathes out a sigh, letting his hand drop from your wrist but leaning into your warm touch.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so quiet that you almost don’t hear him.

“What for?” you breathe, stopping your hand’s gentle movements and resting it where his uninjured shoulder meets his neck.

He swallows. “For lying. I hate feeling weak, and I couldn’t admit that I was… especially not to you,” his breath trembles slightly, eyes cracking open to greet yours.

“You are not weak. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, being sick doesn’t change that,” you reassure him, squeezing his other hand in yours. He blinks at you, appearing to be on the verge of saying something but holding back.

“Let me take care of you, Cass. You shouldn’t work yourself too hard, or you’ll never get better,” you murmur, hoping that he won’t try to prove his strength and push himself too far.

He stays silent for a moment, his eyes hooded and unblinking. “Just rest with me, I’m so tired,” he exhales, his hand in yours loosening as he lets sleep soften his edges.

“Of course,” you smile, letting go of his hand as he moves to get comfortable on the padded bench.

You take a spare pillow from the bench parallel to you and place it next to Castor’s head. The makeshift bed is hardly big enough for two people, but Castor shifts his body closer to the wall of the car to make room for you and you lower yourself down next to him.

He opens his eyes again to look at you, and you marvel at how beautiful he is despite the scars that run in patterns across his cheeks and the dirt permanently etched into his skin. His lips curl into a lazy smile and he goes to move his arm, but before he can place it where he wants to his face contorts into a pained grimace, having forgotten the injury to his shoulder. You frown in sympathy and put a hand on his arm to stop him from moving it.

“Stay still, you shouldn’t be moving this arm too much,” you chide him, letting out a breathy laugh when he pouts.

“Just wanted a cuddle,” he complains, eyes closed and voice slurred with exhaustion.

You smile and are relieved that he can’t see the crimson blush that tints your cheeks at his request. Making sure not to jostle his injured arm, you move yourself closer to him, wrapping an arm over his torso and feeling his heartbeat beneath your hand. He immediately turns his head to rest it in the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin and sending a tingling feeling down to your toes. You stay completely still as he drifts off to sleep, not allowing yourself even the twitch of a finger in fear of disturbing him. You are surprised that the pounding of your heart doesn’t keep him awake, especially when it almost stops altogether as he shifts and his lips brush against your shoulder.

You hold him close, savoring the moment as best you can and trying not to focus on how badly you want to stay like this and never let go. You start to feel hot and clammy, and you move your hand to check Castor’s temperature again, frowning when it comes in contact with his forehead. The skin feels like fire to the touch, and it glistens in the dimming sunlight, creating the illusion of a glowing sheen of gold across his resting features. You delicately brush his tangled bangs away from his eyes and let your fingers dance softly over his face, wishing you could rub away the dark shadows under his eyes and bring back some of the color to his pale cheeks. He looks so fragile and vulnerable in that moment that you have to rest your hand over his heart to ensure that it is still beating.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but at some point your mind is swept away and your eyelids drop, whisking you off to another life. There is a small farmhouse, and birds are calling your name somewhere in the distance as a child with bright blue eyes smiles at you. The eyes are so familiar that you almost believe all of it is real for a moment, and you allow yourself to live in your fantasy for the time being. The dream feels like a warm embrace, as if the open sky is wrapping its arms around you and promising that all will be well when you wake.

…

Three months had passed since that day at the river, and you filled the long hours of traveling miles across barren, unknown lands with weaving stories about what you would do when you reached Azra and patiently letting Castor heal, watching the light return to his eyes and the veins under his skin become fainter. His wound had long since closed and all that remained to show for the river creature’s attack was a cluster of small scars dotted across his shoulder. He grew happier and more energetic in the time spent lazing in the small car watching the hills and trees fly by outside the window, and you fell deeper into your own miserable, ill-fated love.

You had found a deck of cards at one of the stops, and Pilgrim had taught you how to play a number of the games he claims originated in the Old World. You currently sit cross-legged on the floor, playing a heated round of what Pilgrim had called “Speed”. You’ve already beaten Castor three times in a row, leaving him to sit pouting by the window having been replaced by Nix, who you know will offer more competition. You can tell that he sometimes lets you win on purpose, because he never hides his hand of cards and you always catch the pleased smile that graces his face whenever you slap your hands down on the pile in victory. So you purposefully let him win sometimes as well, smiling innocently when he shoots you suspicious glances. He might be better in combat, but you have always been the born strategist.

His Gift had slowly returned as his injury healed, and if there was a skirmish during your journey he fought alongside you, his eyes never once flickering back to the gentle blue that you vowed to defend. You are relieved that you don’t have to worry about him being sick anymore, but you still have terrifying thoughts of him losing his powers during battle and being unable to reach him in time to protect him.

Nix’s shout of victory draws you back to the game in front of you, and you let out a defeated huff, throwing down your hand. You had been playing for hours, so you stand up and stretch your limbs, leaving Nix to play a game of solitaire by herself. She knows more games than you and Castor do, and you are too tired at the moment to have her teach you another.

“Any news on how far we are from the next stop?” you ask to no one in particular. 

Nix is too wrapped up in her game to answer and Castor simply shrugs, “Go ask Pilgrim.”

You leave the small room and poke your head through the drapery covering the doorway, “Are we almost to the next stop?” you ask him, scanning the rough landscape as it flies past you.

Pilgrim remains staring ahead but answers, “Yes, Dear One. We are nearing the Bladland’s walls, so we must stop on the outskirts of the border in order to evade the barons’ checkpoints.”

“They shouldn’t be a problem, you’ve got us,” you scoff. You could fight off a small army in your sleep, especially with Nix and Castor beside you.

“I know my child, but we must stay cautious. We do not know the Badlands like they do. We are strangers to these territories and will be treated as such both by both its inhabitants and the land itself,” his deep voice carries over the wind and you nod, taking one last glance at the rolling hills and returning to the car.

“What did Pilgrim say?” Castor looks up as you reenter the small room.

“We’re almost there, but we might meet trouble at a checkpoint if we aren’t careful,” you relay what Pilgrim had told you, sitting beside Castor at the window.

“I’ll be glad for some action, we’ve been sitting around in this car for weeks,” Castor sulks, leaning his head back against the car’s wall with a bored groan.

“I just can’t believe we’re almost there. Azra has to be close, I can feel it,” you look longingly past him out the window at the fading sky, watching the clouds shift slowly across the horizon.

“Me too,” he sighs, his eyes flickering from the skyline to you, lingering on your face as you close your eyes against the sunset’s bright orange rays.

…

“Finally, the promised land is at hand.”

You stand with Nix and Castor in front of the convoy under a canopy of green, the crisp forest air that breathes against your bare arms making you shiver. Pilgrim stops in front of you, holding up a compass and staring out at the open road. 

You have entered the Badlands.

It doesn’t seem real after the years you’ve spent learning about Azra and preparing for the journey, and now that you’ve finally completed the first step, you are surprised to find that the feeling of overwhelming fulfillment is accompanied by a tight ball of apprehension that lingers in your chest at the realization of what this means for your future. Your entire life has been leading up to this moment, and despite how happy you thought you would be, you can’t help but feel as if you are even more trapped than before, this time there being no escape from the fate that Pilgrim has set out for you. You watch the small log cabin and farm disappear into the fog of the Badlands, and you are powerless to stop it, even as the azure eyes of the child beg you to follow them away from the dusty road and away from Pilgrim.

After walking a few miles down the dirt trail and leaving the convoy behind you, the trees thin out to reveal a large structure marked with a flowing silver flag that depicts the head of a fox. You recognize it from Pilgrim’s lessons as the symbol of Baron Chao. Archers stand atop the checkpoint, pointing their bows down at you and awaiting the orders to fire.

“I’ve come to offer salvation. Lay down your arms and submit to your messiah,” you hear Pilgrim project to the clippers, and you prepare your swords for the inevitable combat.

“On my command….” a clipper speaks from above you, and you take that as your signal to draw a thin cut across your arm, Castor and Nix following suit. “Fire!” you leap into action, your Gift giving you the ability to fly high into the air and deflect the arrows spitting in flurries towards Pilgrim.

The three of you move to opposite sides of the checkpoint, easily slicing your way through each clipper and jumping to the next level to continue the massacre. You turn your head just in time to watch as Castor barrels down to the lower floor, hunched over a bloodstained white suit. His eyebrows pull together in sudden confusion and he glances up towards you, the black fog that had been swallowing his eyes dissipating to reveal white. He looks at you with a wide, fearful stare, and before you can jump down to him, a flash of white and the glint of a blade behind his lowered back catch your eye. You swiftly launch your sword at the clipper before he can touch Castor, anxiety gripping your heart even as he stumbles back and falls off the tower. Castor nods at you gratefully, tightening his fists and setting his jaw as the Gift washes over him again. You watch him cautiously for a moment before returning to help Nix fight off the last of the archers, but you are distracted by the unshakable fear that Castor’s sickness had come back.

You pull yourself onto the front of the car with a blanket of dread draped heavily across your shoulders, stealing a glance at Castor as he limps past you and disappears into the dark interior of the vehicle. You catch Nix’s eye and she gives you a concerned look before leaping across the side of the moving car to where Pilgrim sits beside Cressida. You slowly approach the curtained opening and look past it to where Castor is sitting on the floor between the benches with his head between his knees. Pilgrim appears at your side with Nix standing behind him wearing the same fearful expression that you can feel spreading across your own features.

Pilgrim pushes past you and kneels in front of Castor, lifting his face with a gentle hand.

“I-I told you, I’m fine,” he stammers, pulling his legs closer.

“Look at me child.”

Castor tilts his head to the side and reluctantly meets Pilgrim’s eyes, his face weary.

“The fight took a little more out of me this time, that’s all,” he mutters, eyes flitting back to his feet.

You hold your breath and Nix speaks up, “admit it, you’re getting worse.”

“I… I just need some rest, okay?” he looks back up at Pilgrim as if his gaze will validate his words.

“You don’t have to prove how strong you are to me, I already know. I understand how hard this burden is on you. All of you. But I promise your Gift is for the greater good. Do you realize how special that makes you? How proud I am?” Pilgrim’s voice echoes softly inside the small room, and Castor looks down, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Are we almost there?” he asks, avoiding answering Pilgrim’s words.

“Soon. I promise,” Pilgrim gives Castor one last reassuring look before standing up and exiting the small car.

You cast Nix a nervous glance before stepping towards Castor, taking a deep breath. He looks up at you, something shifting in his eyes, and he drops his arms from his knees. You don’t know what to say, so you settle yourself next to him and lay your head on his shoulder, feeling his hair tickle your cheek. His breath catches in his throat but he doesn’t speak, simply letting his head fall to rest on top of yours, his eyes closing as he breathes in your comforting scent. The moment only lasts a few minutes before Nix returns with an excited look on her face.

“Cass, Y/N…we’re getting off. Pilgrim has stopped the convoy, he says there’s an island,” she speaks breathlessly, eyes wide in anticipation.

You lift your head from Castor’s shoulder with surprise and he looks at you with brows raised, his mouth parted slightly as if he was going to speak before Nix came in.

“…Are we really here?” he breathes, standing shakily from the tight space between the seats. You follow Nix to the front of the car, looking for Pilgrim for confirmation. He is standing in the distance in a meadow that runs along the road, across from a vast lake. An island with a small castle rising from it’s center sits a few hundred yards out, the building jagged and tall against the open sky.

You gasp at the sight, your imagination turning the stone bricks into gleaming towers of silver to match the image of Azra that is burned into your mind.

“We made it. After all this time…I can’t believe it,” you marvel.

Castor smiles, mesmerized as he stares out across the glistening water at the island. “It’s real,” his whisper floats on the soft breeze that comes from the lake, the air around him absorbing the quiet sound.

You share a look of hope and excitement as you follow Pilgrim towards the shore.

As your hastily fashioned raft skims across the lake’s rippling surface, you watch the castle grow larger with each stroke of the paddle, your heart thundering in your chest as you dream about what you will find inside the ancient building. Castor and Nix are staring awestruck at your sides, and Pilgrim and Cressida stand poised on the raft in front of you, leading the hundreds of people who joined your journey across the water’s surface.

“Do you think we’ll find remnants of the Old World here?” Castor asks from beside you, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

“Possibly. It looks as if it’s been abandoned for centuries,” you reply, chest fluttering at the prospect of finding a piece of history from when Azra existed.

As you reach the shore of the lake, Castor brushes his fingers against yours, looking away from the edifice to meet your wide-eyed gaze.

“Stay close, just in case,” he tells you, his face conveying slight unease beneath his rapture.

“Always,” you smile, taking his hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

You stand in front of the towering wooden doors to the castle, lighting your torch and giving Castor’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and watching as Pilgrim pushes them open with a deafening creak.

The floor is littered with dead leaves and the air smells musty, your torch casting a hazy orange glow over the stone walls. The gaping room is hauntingly dark, spare the pale yellow light filtering in from the stained windows above you, matching that of the windows in Pilgrim’s car. Large skeletal structures stand on the sides, held up by metal rods that force their bodies to reenact the shapes of a once living form. Cobwebs shroud every surface, and you brush them away as you slowly enter the room.

“Let us give thanks, and behold the wonders of our new home. Please, go. Explore,” Pilgrim’s voice echoes throughout the tall chambers. Castor shoots you a reminding glance, and you nod, staying by his side.

You follow him through a maze of artifacts, stone faces staring blankly up at you, pieces of history long forgotten and hidden away for centuries. Your torch casts long shadows over the shelves of unfamiliar objects, the strange heads of animals leering at you from where they hang on the walls.

“Is this really the sacred ground of our ancestors?” Nix speaks as she surveys the tallest skeleton, it’s white bones reflecting the light of your torches.

Cressida appears from the shadows behind the boned giant, “Don’t be deceived by appearances. Just as your body has meridians of hidden energy, so does the Earth itself. This place sits on a nexus of great power.” Her hand strokes Nix’s cheek and she smiles back at the High Priestess, but Castor looks on with a doubtful expression.

A man speaks up from behind Cressida, “I can’t believe we journeyed thousands of miles, just for this ruin.”

“Your leap of faith will be rewarded, but you must be patient,” Cressida assures him, and Castor meets your eyes worriedly, his hand moving slowly to the hilt of his knife. 

“This place is a tomb,” the man snarls, walking away to rejoin a group of Pilgrim’s followers.

You put a hand on Castors shoulder and turn him away from the man. “Pilgrim will prove to him that Azra is more than a fairy tale. We have to start somewhere,” you blink assuredly at him, and he nods, turning his head to face the staircase at the sound of Pilgrim’s commanding voice.

“Brethren,” Pilgrim booms, slowly descending the steps.

“Now, finally, we stand on Fate’s own doorstep, where we will build a new Azra. But instead of rejoicing, I sense remorse, demurral, and doubt,” he pauses, letting his audience fill in around him before continuing. 

“I am the one to blame for failing you.” The man that had previously spoken stares at Pilgrim with a dubious frown, others in the assembly echoing his expression.

“If I have led you to a place of doubt, then it is my own conviction that needs testing.” You look worriedly at Castor as the man approaches Pilgrim, a few of the other suspicious men following his movements.

Pilgrim wraps a blindfold over his eyes and tells the men to draw their weapons, gesturing towards you and Castor to stay put as he senses your concern. You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and wait, sword in hand in case you need to defend your leader. Castor and Nix do the same, standing stiffly beside you with their weapons drawn.

“All I have is blind faith to protect me. Fate will decide if this is enough. I challenge you, strike me down if you can.”

The men circle Pilgrim, leaves rustling beneath their feet. As soon as the first makes a move, Pilgrim springs into action, easily deflecting the blow despite being unable to see. He strikes down each man that comes forward using only his hands, leaving their bodies strewn across the stone floor. He looks up at the man who had spoken first to where he stands alone, his comrades now lying dead on the fortress’s dusty ground.

He drops his weapons and stutters, “Please. I…I believe.” 

Pilgrim approaches him slowly, the man shaking in fear. “Then you are already saved,” he speaks, embracing him. You allow your muscles to relax, your nerves calming as Pilgrim proves the undeniable power that Azra holds and subdues the reservations among his followers.

“Remember, a man is only ever as strong as his faith.”

The line stands out in your mind, and you try to ignore the tug of worry in your gut caused by his words. You don’t want to think about it, but you can’t help but wonder if they could have any relation to Castor’s recent sickness. What if it was caused by his faith in Azra weakening? 

You look back to Castor and plaster on a smile, “Lets see what else this place is hiding,” you suggest, hoping that exploring your new home will take your mind off of things. He follows you down one of the dark halls to a smaller room where there are tables of mementos from the Old World.

You let your hand drift over the foreign objects, wiping away the dust that had collected in the absence of people. Castor reaches out and takes a small piece of paper from a metal stand, an image of a statue pictured on its front, clouded by spiderwebs. Nix holds up a small box-shaped toy to her face, peering through a lens at the top.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, letting out a small laugh.

“What is it?” Castor sets down the small paper, taking it from Nix’s outstretched hand.

You watch as he brings it to his eyes, squinting in the dimly lit room. “The Old World,” he whispers in awe, his finger resting on a small button at it’s side. The box must somehow hold pictures in it, you realize.

You pick up a small plastic animal, it’s green skin rough beneath your fingers. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you wonder how many other animals existed before you had the chance to know them. 

“What do you think happened to these people?” Castor asks, handing the box to you.

“Pilgrim says they ignored the signs of their destruction, so Fate decided to punish them,” Nix answers matter-of-factly, picking up the small plastic creature you had set down next to you.

You peer into the old device, pushing down on the button to change the images that materialize in front of your eyes. There is a rushing waterfall, and a tall green statue of a woman holding a torch. You press the button again and gasp, the next picture bringing goosebumps to your skin.

“It’s Azra.”

Nix whips her head up to look at you and Castor’s eyes widen, reaching out for the device.

“It’s Azra!” you repeat, handing Castor the box so he can see for himself.

He looks into the lens, speechless at the image of the sparkling tower. Nix takes it from him and stares at the picture, “It’s so beautiful. Do you think it’s close?” she asks in excitement, looking back up at you and Castor.

Castor’s mouth parts and he stares silently at her for a moment before blinking and dropping his gaze. Your heart leaps in your chest, noticing the despairing look in his eyes. You walk closer to him as he brings a hand up to his ear, and you gently place your palm over his, removing it from his face. You examine the side of his head, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the blood dripping from inside his ear while he looks away indignantly.

“Your ear…” you murmur, wiping off the blood and trying to meet his gaze. He turns his head away and frowns, eyes pooling with unshed tears.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing,” he mutters, focusing on the air in front of you and avoiding your concerned gaze.

“You’re a bad liar,” Nix speaks up softly from behind you, looking at him with a troubled frown. “It’s getting worse,” you agree, taking the hand that dangles at his side in yours and rubbing your thumb across the calloused skin.

“Don’t tell Pilgrim,” he looks up at you sharply, rubbing away the last of the blood. Nix bites back a retort and you frown, watching as he searches for words, his eyes glistening.

“What if I don’t live to see it?” he speaks shakily and finally meets your eyes, his hand in yours tightening.

“We made a promise that we’d walk through the gates of Azra together,” you whisper to him, placing a warm palm on his chest.

“Pilgrim won’t let us down,” Nix harmonizes, her expression firm.

Castor’s lips tremble and he looks away again, and you feel a piece of your heart break away in your chest. He gives a small nod and you press forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your chin on his shoulder in a tight hug. He brings his arms around your waist without hesitation and you sigh into the embrace. You can feel his rattled breaths under your chest as you place a soothing kiss to his shoulder, and he burrows his face against your neck, breathing into your hair and closing his eyes. You tighten your grip on him and try not to let the tears threatening to spill from your eyes show. You look at Nix from over his shoulder and shake your head, seeing the way she shifts on her feet to leave and tell Pilgrim. Her eyes plead to you from across the room, but you furrow your brows, setting your mouth in a tight line. You swear to yourself in that moment never to leave Castor’s side again. I won’t let anything bad happen to you as long as I’m here, you silently promise him. 

However much power Pilgrim has proclaimed to hold, you won’t let him put Castor in a dangerous situation, even if it means disobeying his orders.

…

It only takes a few days to clean out the castle and rid it’s floors of the cobwebs and dried leaves that infest every corner, and you work quickly to tidy one of the small chambers on the second floor that the three of you have claimed. You stand outside the tower, getting some fresh air after having spent hours sweeping away the debris from inside your new room. You take one last deep inhale of the motionless fog that wraps in tendrils around you before reentering the yawning mouth of the castle’s doors and climbing the stairs to check on Castor, who you had left to rest on a makeshift bed in your room. The familiar rasping of a blade from inside makes you stiffen and pause before entering, your hand moving instinctively to the hilt of your sword. You take a slow step forward, waiting apprehensively just outside the door. Suddenly, you hear a broken cry of anger and you jolt, rushing into the dim quarters and drawing your sword. You are greeted with a sight that makes your heart plummet to your feet like a brick and your lungs stop pumping oxygen to your brain. 

Castor is standing in the center of the room, his face streaked in red, his hand shaking as he hovers a bloody knife next to his cheek. He glances up as you enter, his eyes widening as he notices your presence. You make a choking sound, running towards him and tearing the knife from his hand, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces at the overwhelming desperation on his face. He lets out a frustrated sob and drops to the floor, taking you with him as you hold onto him for dear life.

He cries silently into your shoulder, his hands grasping at nothing as you cradle him, your throat turning to sandpaper when you try to swallow. It’s as if his tears wash away the Gift from his eyes, and you finally recognize just how hard it is for him to fight while never knowing if his powers will suddenly disappear for good. 

“I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t- it wasn’t working, I was just trying to-,” his voice cracks, face crumpling as he stares at his bloodied hands. 

His whole body trembles against yours as you wipe away the tears mingling with the blood on his cheeks, feeling a wetness slipping past the barrier of your own lashes and onto your skin as you fight to stay collected.

“Castor, look at me,” your voice shakes as you pull away slightly.

He wipes his nose and stares at you through watery eyes, his tears leaving trails of pale skin beneath the blood that drips from his cuts.

“Cass, I need you here, I-I can’t survive without you, so please…don’t try to fix anything by yourself. Cutting yourself won’t make your Gift come back, you need to let your body heal,” you feel your own voice breaking as he curls his fists into the fabric of your cape.

His breaths come in rattling, unsteady bursts, and he lets out a choked whimper, desperately holding back his loud sobs. You gently lift his head, and without giving it much thought, you place delicate kisses across his cheeks, following the map of raw slashes that bestrew his soft skin. He takes deep, labored breaths and closes his eyes, his lashes tickling your cheek as you rest your forehead against his.

“…I love you, Cass” you whisper to him, trying hard not to look at his lips and focusing on his closed lids. He shivers and parts his mouth slightly, the blood that has dried on his face cracking with the minute action. His eyes slowly open, revealing the melancholy blue orbs that cause your world to spin on its axis. You’ve said it to him before, always platonically or in softer moments when one of you needed comforting, but this time feels different to you. You aren’t sure if he notices the change, but you wouldn’t have been able to see his blush anyway underneath the blood.

You gather yourself, peeling away from Castor and helping him stand, leading him back to the bed in the far corner of the room. He still hasn’t said anything, and you bite your lip anxiously, wondering if you had crossed a line. He sits upright on the small bed and you kneel beside him, bringing a hand back up to his face.

“Cass, let me heal you,” you whisper, your voice pleading.

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flickering up to yours as he sucks in a breath. You close your eyes, drawing on the power within your body to allow it to flow into him again, feeling the cuts on his face closing beneath your glowing fingertips. You try not to use too much energy, remembering the effect it had on you last time you healed him. You open your eyes and feel the hot energy inside you return to your core as the power leaves your hands. Castor’s breathing is steadier and the wounds on his face are now only faint scars, but blood still lingers on his features, drying on the soft skin of his cheeks. You drop your hands and give Castor a wavering smile as you stand up slowly to get a towel to clean his face.

Before you can leave, he grabs hold of your hand, an urgent look on his face. “I love you too,” he whispers faintly.

It’s almost inaudible, but your heart melts at his voice, and you smile softly before giving his hand a gentle tug to free yourself from his grasp and leaving the small room to find medical supplies. 

As you pass a larger room with a low ceiling, you hear familiar voices drifting from inside. “It’s a hard lesson,” Cressida’s low murmur sounds from behind the door. “Some must die, so that others can live. Castor’s final journey may come sooner than any of us hoped, but God will not allow that void to go unfilled,” your blood runs cold at the mention of Castor, and you press your ear to the window to find out who the High Priestess is speaking to.

“A new Dark One has emerged. You must go and find them, and bring them back to join our fold,” Cressida finishes. Another voice answers, and your nails dig harshly into your palms as you hear Nix.

“I can’t leave Castor alone,” she replies softly, and you force your legs to move, wanting to be as far from their voices as possible. Your head feels stuffy and you ignore the rest of their conversation, too shocked by how unaffected Cressida seemed by Castor’s sickness. How could they so easily just replace him like that? How could Nix agree to do that to him? Your mind spins with confusion, your feet carrying you to the edge of the lake without you realizing.

The peaceful forest surrounding the castle helps clear your head, and you remember what you came to do. Taking the small towel you had grabbed from one of the rooms, you dip it into the cool lake, soaking it under the crystal clear water. You stare down at the ripples caused by your movement, lost in thought, and fail to hear the quiet splash a few yards in front of you. As you twirl your fingers absentmindedly in the water, a dark shadow falls across the surface. You blink, glancing up and expecting to find one of Pilgrim’s guards, but are instead met by a fleeting glimpse of black armor and pale skin before you feel a heavy blow to the back of your head and your vision fades to nothing.

…

Your head throbs as the reoccurring dream of the small farm and blue eyed boy dissipates, leaving behind only the darkness of your eyelids. The throbbing increases, and you blink open your eyes to a harsh light filtering into your room. You raise a stiff arm to touch your injury, your fingers grazing over a large bump on the back of your skull. You wince and pull back, sitting up on the makeshift bed that you are laying on. You glance around the room, noticing for the first time Castor’s sleeping form beside you on his own bed. You tense as you realize that you hadn’t gone back to him after you had left to get water to clean the blood from his face. Who had attacked the castle? Had Castor been hurt in your absence? You fight the urge to wake him and question him about what had happened, leaving him to rest and gingerly easing yourself out of bed, holding onto the wall for stability as dizziness washes over you. You blink away the fuzziness in your eyes and search the surrounding rooms for Pilgrim or Nix, wanting answers.

You catch sight of Pilgrim standing in the center of the main floor, speaking quietly to Cressida, and you make your way carefully down the stairs towards him. He looks up as you enter the large room, his solemn face morphing into a smile as he greets you.

“Dear One, you’re awake. Is your head feeling any better?” he asks as he cups your face in one of his large hands.

“Yes, Pilgrim…What happened? Is everyone alright?” you ask, looking around the room for signs of damage. There is blood spattered across the ground and walls, and shards of stone broken from the castle littering the floor.

“Baron Chao sent her clippers here to kill me. She was angry with us for enlightening her people and helping guide them to the faith,” he spoke gravely, gesturing to the destruction.

“Where is Nix?” you notice her absence, suddenly worried that something had happened to her during the attack.

“She has been sent on a mission to find one of your siblings. Another Dark One has arisen, and she has been tasked with bringing them here to join our ranks,” Pilgrim explains, and your stomach clenches, remembering Cressida’s previous conversation with Nix.

“Pilgrim…Will Castor be okay?” you ask hesitantly, fearing his answer.

“Castor is sick, Dear One. He must rest and strengthen himself for what is to come. I sense tensions rising among the Barons, and war is more likely than some may think. We have made an alliance with The Widow, but an enemy with Chao. An enemy we must be well prepared to face again,” he narrates, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Do not fear, my child. Castor’s Gift may be failing, but his faith will keep him strong,” he pronounces. You nod and leave him to continue his hushed conversation with Cressida, returning to your chambers.

When you reenter the room Castor is sitting up in his bed, sharpening his knives with a small stone. You sit down beside him and watch him work for a moment before speaking.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask as he looks up from the tedious task.

“I should be the one asking you that,” he puts on a small, teasing smile and sets down the blade.

“It’s just a small bump, I can hardly feel it. But Cass…do you want to talk about what happened earlier?” you pull your eyebrows together, watching his smile drop.

“…Not really. I was upset, Y/N. Don’t worry about it,” his lips draw into a thin line, and he turns away from you.

“How can you say that? Of course I’m going to worry about you! Especially when you do something like- like that, and I can’t do anything to help you. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to watch you do that to yourself? You’re my other half, Cass. If you’re not here, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” your voice begins to shake again and you curse yourself for letting your emotions get the best of you.

“Hard for you? You’re not the one who’s Gift won’t work properly, you aren’t being treated like a helpless child by everyone you care about! Hasn’t Pilgrim told you by now? I’m dying, Y/N. There’s nothing you or anyone can do about it,” he shouts, turning to look at you with fury blazing behind his gaze. You stare at him, eyes wide and glistening, his words entering one ear and leaving the other like an arrow splitting your skull.

“W-what? Castor, you aren’t- that can’t be. Pilgrim told me everything was fine, he promised us we would see Azra together,” you all but whimper, and his face softens, the anger evaporating and being replaced by a mournful stare.

“You’re my other half too, Y/N. I just can’t sit around waiting for death. It’s cowardly, and Pilgrim says a war is coming, so I have to get my Gift back by then,” he leans towards you, his beautiful eyes piercing through your veil of grief. You look up at him and he wipes away the single tear that has fallen onto your cheek.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Y/N. I just- I had to try something.”

“You can’t bring it back through force, Cass. You have to be patient with yourself,” you murmur, letting him play with the tips of your hair as he watches you anxiously.

“I know that now. I’m sorry,” he says again, letting his hands drop to yours.

You play with his fingers, the feeling of his skin surprisingly soft against yours despite his hands’ constant use of weapons. He intertwines his hands with yours, your heart fluttering at how perfectly they fit together. You sit there silently, enjoying each other’s presence and letting the rest of the world fall away from you as the sun circles the Earth slowly, lighting up your small room and making your faces glow beneath it’s cleansing rays. It is a flickering second of peace within a lifetime of horror and violence, and you engrave the moment into your mind, saving it for times when there is only blood and death and you need to wash it all away with memories of kinder things.

…

You are sitting alone by the stairs resting after helping clean up the damage done by Chao’s clippers when Nix returns. She enters the towering front doors of the castle with one of Pilgrim’s guards, carrying the body of a boy about your age. His arms hang limply at his sides and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat as they drag him into the dimly lit tower. You stand up quickly, catching her eye and setting your mouth in a tight-lipped frown. She had found the other Dark One. You watch her from a distance as she lays him on a pile of blankets in a nearby room and sits beside him, bringing a wet towel to his face. The gentle act makes your stomach clench, anger boiling inside you. How could she already treat him as if he were her brother? Had she forgotten about Castor?

As curious as you are, you can’t bear to watch her doctor the mysterious boy, too upset with her for ignoring Castor and leaving him while he was sick to find his replacement. You walk up the stairs towards your room, ignoring Pilgrim and Cressida as they move past you to meet the boy who had apparently regained consciousness. As you reach the top you hear an unfamiliar voice speaking aggressively to Pilgrim, and you turn back, glancing down uneasily and wondering if the newcomer would cause trouble. The dark haired boy was standing now, angrily approaching Pilgrim and trying to push past him. You watch in shock as his eyes go black, his Gift activating with no help from a blade. Pilgrim raises a hand and his voice reverberates as he speaks in the ancient language of his people, using his power to control the Gift and force the boy back to his natural state. You faintly hear Pilgrim order Nix to get food and wine for the stranger, and watch from the balcony as she hurriedly leaves, your jaw clenching in frustration. 

Why is this boy being treated like an esteemed guest? He could be an enemy for all we know, you seethe, your nails digging into your palms. Pilgrim turns back to the boy and you hear him ask his name, and you strain your ears to catch his reply. 

“M.K.” answers the boy quietly.

Their voices grow too quiet to be overheard and you turn to walk back towards your room, but movement from the other side of the balcony catches your eye and you pause, noticing Castor in the dark lighting. He is standing stiffly beside a pillar with his arms at his sides, looking down at Pilgrim and the boy with glazed eyes, his breathing rapid as he watches Pilgrim help the boy across the room with a hand on his arm. You feel your throat tighten at his broken expression, your heart clenching as he blinks away tears and sets his mouth in grim determination. You wish you could tell him that everything would be okay, but even you are having trouble believing that. Castor’s condition seemed to be getting worse with each passing day, and you couldn’t lie to him or yourself when both of you knew what it could eventually lead to if you didn’t find a cure. 

You stand beside the table of ancient artifacts, the small room a living time capsule of the Old World. Everything around you is still preserved in a thin layer of dust, the only things lacking the grey filter being the small plastic animal that you now fiddle with in one hand and the box of pictures that rests on the table beside you. This room is the only place in the castle where you feel safe, and you use it as an escape from the real world. You are flipping through a small booklet you found detailing the flora and fauna of a time from before the Badlands existed when you hear voices approaching. You look up as Nix and M.K. enter your small safe haven, casting a dubious glance at the tall boy and setting the book down.

“Y/N, this is M.K., I was hoping you could help me show him around,” Nix smiles at you, gesturing for him to come forward. He glances at her quickly before looking at you, nodding politely. He seems oddly nonthreatening, a drastic change from before, and you manage a half-smile of agreement.

“Of course,” you say, picking up the toy box and sliding in the wheel of pictures. Nix’s face brightens as you bring out the small device and M.K. looks at it in confusion. You laugh softly and walk to stand behind him, bringing the toy up to his eyes and pressing the button on the side to show him how it works.

He brings his hands up slowly, in awe of the images held in the small box, and you smile at the innocence of the activity.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you say as you hear a small gasp from the dark-haired boy. He chuckles lightly, turning around to face you.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” his eyes are filled with childish wonder, and you smile genuinely for the first time in days. Maybe he isn’t as bad as I thought, you muse as Nix takes the toy from him.

M.K. opens his mouth to speak, but an angry voice from behind you interrupts, Castor entering the room wearing a threatening expression.

“Get away from her,” he growls, breathing heavily as he halts a few feet behind you. Nix looks on nervously and M.K. tenses next to you, shooting you a questioning glance.

“You go out without me one time…and you’ve already found my replacement?” He looks at Nix with hurt in his eyes, taking slow, deliberate steps forward. 

“Replacement?” M.K. asks hesitantly. 

Castor approaches him, his eyes wild. “I saw you with Pilgrim. You don’t have to cut yourself, you’re not like us,” he snarls, face inches away from the taller boy. Sweat drips from his forehead, his fever making his eyes glassy and his skin pale, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You couldn’t let him start a fight, not in this state.

You step between them, pushing Castor back, “Cass, calm down, it’s not what you think-”.

“Then what is it? Is he going to share your bed too then, huh?” Castor shouts, pointing an accusing finger at M.K., his breathing rough as he stands inches from you. You stare silently into his eyes, startled by the bitter pain sheathed behind his blue irises.

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that-,” M.K. steps forward defensively, and you look at Nix in dismay, her eyes wide as they flit between Castor and M.K.

“Why don’t you stop me!” Castor shoves him backwards and you let out an alarmed cry, blocking him from M.K.

“Get out of my way,” he looks at you, anger clouding his eyes. Blood drips from his nose and you reach up to wipe it off, but he pushes you away, rubbing it off aggressively with a shaky hand.

“Castor…” Nix speaks from beside M.K., her eyes wide and sympathetic.

“I don’t need your pity,” he says roughly, his eyes burning with angry tears as he gives you one last look before storming out of the small room. You shoot Nix an apologetic glance before following him, not bothering to ask M.K. if he was alright. You are too focused on Castor, his outburst a sure sign that his fever was worsening.

You find him sitting on his bed in your shared room, his fists clenched and his knees drawn close to his chest. You approach him slowly, his eyes focused intently on his feet as he sucks in heavy breaths.

“He doesn’t belong here,” he growls, his face flushed.

“Give him a chance, he seems to get along well with Nix,” you speak softly, standing a few feet away from him.

“He seemed to get along just fine with you as well,” Castor scoffs bitterly, and you are surprised by the hint of jealousy in his voice.

“You’re being childish, Castor. I was trying to be welcoming, I wasn’t abandoning you for a stranger,” you reply sharply, tired of arguing with him over such trivial things.

“He can’t stay.”

“Castor-”

“If he stays, I become useless, don’t you understand? I’m just extra baggage that’s going to get thrown off the ship when you no longer need me!” he shouts, glaring up at you from where he sits. “If I can’t fight, then what’s the point, Y/N? I cant stand being a fucking burden anymore. He’ll replace me, and you’ll forget I ever existed. Pilgrim’s already forgotten,” his voice grows quiet at the end, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stares at you.

“I would never forget you,” you whisper, hurt swelling in your chest. “And the point is that you’ll be alive. Isn’t that enough?” your eyes brim with tears, and you squeeze them shut in an attempt to stop yourself from crying again.

“I’m not going to get better,” he mutters, wiping his nose as more blood drips from it.

“Yes, you will,” you fix your gaze on him, steadfast and hard. 

He looks up at you miserably, sniffing and giving up on wiping the blood away.

“Please Cass. For me,” you speak softly, your stern gaze evaporating into a look of pure desperation.

“…Okay,” he murmurs, closing his eyes in defeat.

…

When Castor doesn’t return from the refugee camp, you immediately assume the worst. You blame yourself; he had gone without telling you or Nix, but you should have been there with him. You never would have let him go alone, he should be sitting beside you playing cards, not being held prisoner by The Widow. You hadn’t even known he had left until Pilgrim told you what had happened when Cressida had sent him to ensure that Chau followed through on her promise of providing workers. You would trade anything just to know that he was safe, and you were angry with Cressida for sending him to fight when he was sick.

Grief takes control, leaving you inconsolable. You can’t bring yourself to eat, no matter how much food Nix sneaks into your room, and sleep escapes you, your head filled with horrifying images of Castor lying bleeding somewhere, left for dead. His empty bed next to yours only makes things worse, and you resort to sleeping on a blanket in the room of ancient artifacts, the solitude finally allowing you to cry without being seen by Nix or M.K..

You are utterly helpless, unable to rescue him from The Widow and unable to bury the guilt and grief inside you. Worst of all, you are unable to tell him how much you love him, and the thought that he may never know causes your world to come crashing down around you, everything you had ever cared about being ripped from your hands and tearing a gaping hole in your heart.

Two days pass before Pilgrim has any news of Castor, and when he does, the relief of hearing that he is alive makes you dizzy, the hole in your heart closing ever so slightly. But the grief that has been lifted from you is replaced with an overwhelming fear. He is still being held captive by The Widow, and before you could see him and prove that he is alive and breathing, he wasn’t safe.

You sit with Nix and M.K. in your room, watching absentmindedly as she teaches him a card game. You drift off, allowing your imagination to take you away, your dreams being much better than your reality. You can finally see why the eyes of the boy from your dreams are so familiar. They are Castor’s. You can tell by the way they glint mischievously when he smiles, and by the flecks of green and brown hidden under the icy blue that you know so well. How they reflect the sunlight and glow under the moon. You extend a hand, trying to touch the child, but he is just out of reach and your fingers grasp only air.

Pilgrim’s voice shatters the daydream, bringing you back to your harsh reality. “We must take a trip to the mainland, my children. We are meeting with The Widow. Fate has ensured that Castor remains alive and is to be returned to us,” he speaks gruffly, and Nix looks at you with hope blooming in her eyes. 

Your hands shake as you stand, your heartbeat increasing tenfold as you leave the small bedroom. When you reach the vast doors of the castle, you shoot Nix a terrified glance, wondering what state Castor would be in when he is returned to you. She takes your hand, squeezing it in reassurance, and you let out a deep breath, giving her a grateful look. 

“He’ll be ok,” she whispers, staring out past the lake at the fields surrounding you.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and follow Pilgrim to the rafts that would take you to the mainland.

You stand beside Nix and M.K. in the large, grassy field opposite the island, watching as The Widow approaches slowly with a group of her clippers. There is nowhere to run, the field extending for miles on either side of you and lined with trees from the outskirts of the forest nearby. She halts in front of Pilgrim, her hand lingering on the sword at her side.

“Where is my boy?” Pilgrim asks, his voice deep and authoritative.

The Widow makes no movement, staring at Pilgrim warily as you watch with bated breath. “Where is Castor?” Pilgrim barks, “I won’t ask again.”

Without taking her eyes off of Pilgrim, The Widow gestures for her men to fetch him from the car. You watch in silence as two clippers carry a stretcher across the field, Castor’s red and black armor becoming visible.

You choke back a cry of horror as they lay him down in front of Pilgrim. He is unconscious, and paler than when you had last seen him, his skin so white that each individual vein could be seen beneath the sweat-glossed surface. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, every intake of air a struggle as his eyes twitch beneath his closed lids. He looks so lifeless and small, and you feel your hand tighten around the hilt of your sword as you drag your eyes away from his body. This was all The Widow’s fault. You fight the urge to drive your blade deep into her chest and make her suffer like Castor, wanting revenge for what she had done to him. She had so quickly gone from being an ally to an enemy, and you were ready for Pilgrim to order you and Nix to attack.

But her words come as a surprise, and your hand drops from your sword as she speaks. “We treated him as best we could, but his condition is worsening,” she says with sympathy, and you look at Nix in astonishment.

“And why would you do me this kindness, I wonder,” Pilgrim stares at Castor’s body, his face emotionless and still.

“Because a father should say goodbye to his son. And because I am not your enemy,” The Widow replies diplomatically.

Pilgrim stares at her incredulously before turning and nodding towards Nix to take Castor. M.K. moves to help her but you shove past him, taking the front end of the stretcher and biting your lip to stop it from trembling as you look down at his face, his mouth parted as he fights just to get air into his lungs. Nix stares straight ahead, her eyes glossy as she lifts her side of the stretcher and slowly begins to walk towards your raft.

Pilgrim turns back to The Widow, “Thank you for returning my son,” he says, his voice clipped but holding less anger than before.

He follows you to the lake-shore, leaving The Widow standing in the field, and you take one last look at the copper-haired woman before gently placing Castor onto the raft and sitting down next to him, feeling the wooden structure sway below you as you are pushed out into the water and back towards the island.

You sit on the makeshift bed next to Castor, holding a damp towel to his forehead as you watch him try to fight off the sickness that invades his body as he sleeps. The paper tapestry covering the window above you acts as a thin curtain, allowing a pale light to wash over his face and bathe him in patterns reflected from the images on the ancient mural. You brush back the hair on his forehead, every movement you make an act of tenderness that urges him to wake up. His mouth twitches and his eyelids flutter open as he regains consciousness, his blue irises glassy and unfocused as you stroke his cheek. He tries to lift his head, his mouth moving as he attempts to speak but no words come, and you place a hand on his chest, easing him back down.

“Shhh. You’re going to be okay,” you murmur, bringing the cool towel back to his face.

He sighs and closes his eyes again, “I’m dying,” he rasps, his voice barely detectable.

You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes, “Don’t say that. You promised me, remember?” you beg him. His mouth opens and closes as he takes labored breaths, his chest stuttering beneath your hand.

“Pilgrim told us we would see Azra together, and we will,” you tell him, trying to convince yourself just as much as you are him.

“Pilgrim is wrong. And if he’s wrong about that…then maybe he’s wrong about everything else,” his voice is weak as he lets out a shaky breath, opening his eyes to focus on your face. You meet his gaze, your lips trembling.

“You can’t lose faith in Azra, we’ve already come so far,” you whisper, dipping the towel in a bowl of cold water and returning it to his face.

“We’re never going to find it, Y/N. Azra is gone, it disappeared with the Old World, and maybe that’s for the best,” he mutters, turning his head away from your hand as you move the wet towel to his cheek.

“You’re sick, you need to-” you reach out to touch his face but he grabs you by the shoulder and sits up, his face taut with anger.

“We are not what he says we are!” he shouts, the abrupt movement throwing you off the bed and onto the smooth floor. You stare at him in shock, your eyes wide. He opens his mouth as if to apologize, regret instantly filling his gaze, when M.K.’s voice barks from the doorway.

“Leave her alone!” he walks swiftly towards Castor’s bed, his lips drawn into a tight frown.

You stand up, rushing to put yourself between him and Castor, “His fever is getting worse, you need to leave,” you say, your face rigid. You hear Castor moving behind you and you turn, holding M.K. back with one hand. Castor staggers towards a statue of ancient armor and pulls a sword from the figure’s belt, panting heavily as he turns and points it at M.K.. A feral look has clouded his eyes, the sword shaking in his outstretched hand as he glowers at the other boy.

“You don’t belong here,” he growls, taking an unsteady step towards M.K.. The dark-haired boy shoots you a worried glance, stepping backwards.

“Castor, calm down,” M.K. puts his hands up, slight fear entering his gaze as he stares back at him. Castor takes another step forward and you turn around, making a desperate grab for the blade. He shouts out in pain as you shove him away from M.K., but dodges your attempt at stopping him and swings the blade violently toward the taller boy.

M.K. ducks the blow easily and leaps away from Castor, but the feverish boy follows him, striking out blindly as he attempts to fight in his weakened state. He lunges forward just as M.K. steps to the side, his sword slicing through one of the armored statues that surround the small room.

“Castor, stop!” you cry frantically, watching in terror as M.K. moves to defend himself. Castor wouldn’t be able to win a fight against the stronger boy, his motions already growing sluggish as his body fights to keep him going through his illness. You rush forwards as M.K. grabs Castor and violently throws him down, pressing his body into the hardwood floor and twisting his arm to hold him in place. Castor moans in pain, his face screwing up as M.K. twists his arm back with more force. You shove M.K. off of him, throwing him to the side as you kneel over Castor and hold him to your chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as he drags in harsh gasps.

Castor struggles against you, turning his head to M.K., “He’s a liar!” he shouts, blood dripping from his nose as he pants beneath your hold.

“I know what you are,” he whimpers, “The Widow told me.”

You look down at him in confusion, then back up at M.K. who is staring at the boy in your arms with shock, a sword dangling from his hand in case Castor tried to attack again.

“Enough.” A low voice from behind you makes you whip your head around, watching as Pilgrim and Nix enter the room. Nix glances down to Castor, fear flickering across her gaze as she sees the sword in M.K.’s hand. You loosen your arms around Castor and he drops his head, his eyes following Pilgrim.

“Your brother needs to rest,” Pilgrim commands, looking down at you with piercing eyes.

You don’t move, meeting his gaze in defiance. Nix looks at you with wide eyes, imploring you to stand up, but you glare at Pilgrim, pulling Castor closer.

Pilgrim begins to speak in the ancient language of Azra, and Nix’s eyes dart back up to him, her hand reaching for M.K.’s. Pilgrim gives another sharp order and Nix slowly retreats from the room, pulling M.K. with her and staring remorsefully at Castor. You watch her go, a feeling of betrayal finally shattering your confidence in Pilgrim’s promises. You make up your mind as the last of your faith in him crumbles: you are going to get out of here, and you are taking Castor with you.

“Dear One, leave us now. I wish to speak to Castor alone,” Pilgrim’s voice is dangerously quiet as he stares at you, and your heart thuds loudly in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“..No.” You are shocked by your own response, but you had noticed a look in Pilgrim’s eyes that scared you more than anything you had ever seen, and you refuse to leave Castor alone with him.

Castor makes a small noise from under you, and you meet his gaze, your eyes conveying to him a silent promise. I’m here for you. And I’m never leaving again. He looks at you with a mix of pain and redamancy, his face showing a million different emotions at once. It is enough for you to know that he understood, and you untangle yourself from him, standing to face Pilgrim.

“What did you say, my child?” Pilgrim’s voice is threatening, his eyes glinting with sudden malice.

Castor gets shakily to his feet, standing beside you and matching Pilgrim’s lour. “She said no,” he speaks, taking your hand in his and gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“I will not allow disloyalty into my house,” Pilgrim’s eyes are wild with anger, his nostrils flared.

Your knees feel weak with fear but you stand your ground, taking a deep breath. 

“Then we’ll leave,” you say evenly, masking your terror with a calm expression.

A wave of shock passes over Pilgrim’s face, and his eyes turn cold. “You will do no such thing,” he growls, his broad shoulders filling the doorway and blocking the only way out of your room. Castor’s hand tightens around you even more and you wince, blinking at him. He loosens his grip apologetically and moves toward Pilgrim.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” his voice is gravelly as he stands shoulder to shoulder with your leader, the trembling of his hand in yours the only thing betraying his fear.

Pilgrim’s eyes flash with outrage, and he makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat.

“I do not want to hurt you, my Dear Ones. But you leave me little choice,” he threatens. “I am not blind to your feelings, I know what has brought about this sudden breach of faith. You care deeply for each other, and it has distracted you from your duty to Azra. I am no stranger to such emotions. But you must stay focused and not let your childish fantasies cloud your perception.”

You are taken aback by his words, unaware that he knew of your feelings for Castor, and shocked by his proclamation that Castor returns them. This wasn’t how you wanted to tell him you loved him. Everything about it is wrong, and your chest burns with frustration as you meet Pilgrim’s gaze.

“I will give you one day to choose whether you leave or stay. Think carefully, my children, and do not make the wrong decision. Your disloyalty will not go unpunished,” he slowly backs away from the door, glancing at each of you one last time with an admonitory sweep of his dark eyes.

You hold your breath until he has gone, standing stiffly beside Castor in front of the empty door frame. You can’t bear to look into his eyes, afraid of the rejection you might find in them as he drops your hand. You turn away, taking long strides toward your bed, but Castor grabs your arm and stops you, forcing you to turn and meet his gaze.

“Y/N-” he starts to speak, but you cut him off.

“I’m sorry, I should never have put you in a position where you had to disobey Pilgrim. You’re in danger now, and it’s my fault,” you croak, your throat tightening as he locks his eyes onto yours.

“No, that’s not what I-” he grabs for your hand again but you pull it away, the pain in your heart blinding you.

“I don’t know what Pilgrim was talking about, I…” you falter, your eyes brimming with tears.

“Really? Because I do,” he stares at you, his eyes swimming with emotion.

“What?” your breath catches in your throat, your world freezing in place as he takes a step toward you.

“Do you really not know how much I love you?” he breathes, closing the distance between your bodies until he is standing directly in front of you, the tips of his fingers brushing your wrists.

“Castor…?” your voice comes out like a whispered prayer, everything you had ever wanted to say to him escaping your mind as he looks into your eyes.

“You’re the only reason that I’m still living. Everything I do is for you, everything I’ve survived…I can’t tell you how badly I want to leave this place, to take you far away from the Badlands and never look back. And I- I thought that maybe you wanted the same thing,” his breath glides over your nose and your fingers twitch, reaching for him.

He takes your hands, bringing his face down until his lips hover just above yours, only a sliver of air between you as you exchange breaths.

“You have no idea how much I want that,” you shiver at his closeness, his eyes so clear and blue that you can count the individual specks of green and brown in them.

“I’ve loved you for so long that I can’t remember not loving you,” your words are swallowed by his sharp intake of breath as he stares hungrily into your eyes.

“And I can’t remember a time when I haven’t wanted to kiss you,” he murmurs, finally brushing his lips against yours and cupping your face in his hands, tilting your head to the side as he leans into you.

It’s as if the Earth melts and mingles with the sky, your mind going numb as you feel his lips caressing yours. All the fear, all the death and destruction you had witnessed falls away from you like an autumn leaf, and you shed your skin as you kiss him back, his lips burning against yours with years of suppressed longing. He curls his fingers into the hair at the base of your neck, urging your faces apart and taking a deep breath as your lips continue to search for his, eyes opening at his sudden pause.

“Let’s leave. Tonight.” His voice is breathy, his lips a wonderful shade of pink from kissing you and his cheeks finally blossoming with color, giving his face life for the first time in months.

“…Okay.”

The dream comes flooding back, and you at last see why your mind had concocted the images of the small farm. It was a beacon of hope. A path leading you towards your future. You smile to yourself, grinning despite everything, and wrap your arms around Castor’s neck.

“Just give me five more minutes,” you murmur into his skin, kissing up and down his neck. He hums appreciatively, tilting his head back as his eyes flutter shut, his features finally relaxing completely as you place tender kisses along his jaw, tasting the salty sweat on his skin. You move back up to his lips, capturing them in a slow kiss as he wraps his arms around you and presses you into him as close as possible. 

“We should tell Nix,” Castor whispers against your lips, pausing once again much to your disapproval.

“What? That we kissed?” you laugh lightly, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek.

“That we’re leaving.”

“…We’ll do it once Pilgrim goes to his chambers,” you reply softly, dropping your arms from his shoulders. He nods, resting his hands on your hips and blinking slowly, still caught up in another world.

“In the meantime, we should gather anything we might need. Food especially,” you begin to map out an escape plan in your head, trying to pinpoint the exact placement of Pilgrim’s guards outside the castle walls. 

Your room doesn’t have any doors leading directly outside, so you would have to sneak out from the lowest floor. Your only consoling thought is the fact that no one but Pilgrim is aware of your situation, so if you ran into any of his followers, they wouldn’t question two of his trusted Acolytes if they came across them wandering the castle at night. You had only a few personal belongings each, so packing up your things wouldn’t be too hard, but stealing food and a raft would prove more difficult. Your biggest worry however is the fact that Castor is still very sick, and even though your confession seemed to have given him a newfound energy, he looks wobbly on his feet, his breaths remaining unsteady and forced, especially after your kiss.

“Castor, when you were with The Widow…what did she use to treat you?” you look up from where you are kneeling on the floor, stuffing blankets from your makeshift beds into a small bag that you would take with you.

Castor looks at you in surprise, his eyes showing a mixture of fear and regret. “I-I’m not sure…I was unconscious for most of the time, but I overheard her say something about medicines from outside the Badlands’ walls,” he sits beside you on one of the stripped beds, visibly relaxing as he finally gets to rest his legs, the effort of standing for so long making him short of breath. You give him a quick glance as you finish packing away the blankets, making sure he’s alright before standing up again.

“I’m going to check if Pilgrim is still awake. Stay here and get some rest, okay?” you shoot him an affectionate smile, passing him your bag.

He opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it and simply nods, grateful for not having to get up, his muscles burning as his fever rages on. 

You leave the small room, scanning the hallways for any signs of Pilgrim or Cressida. Confirming that you are alone, you slowly descend the stairs, the room below you washed in darkness after Pilgrim had retired for the night, the fire in the torches surrounding the floor snuffed out. You know where to find Nix, but you doubt that Castor will want to say goodbye to her if M.K. is with her. You quietly enter the room that holds the toys from the Old World, and pause in front of the doorway as Nix and M.K look up in alarm.

“Y/N? What are you-” Nix stands quickly, moving towards you.

“I came to say goodbye. Castor and I are leaving,” you reply, watching with a twinge of guilt as hurt fills her gaze.

“Leaving? Where will you go? What about Azra?” her voice trembles as you walk closer.

“Castor needs to heal, and he can’t do that here,” you don’t tell her about Pilgrim’s threats, not wanting to destroy her faith in him as well.

“Does Pilgrim know about this?” she looks at you uneasily, and you shake your head.

“No. We’re going to sneak past the guards, but we have to get off the island by morning,” you look at the floor, afraid that Nix will try to persuade you to stay.

Instead, you feel her arms wrap around you in a tight hug, and you let out a sigh of relief, returning the embrace.

“I’m sorry I can’t come with you,” she whispers, and you tighten your arms around her.

“Do you need anything?” she asks, pulling away after a few more seconds.

“A raft. But there are plenty on shore, we just need to be careful,” you look around the room, your eyes landing on the small box of pictures. Nix follows your gaze, her mouth twitching up as she sees the toy.

She picks it up and hands it to you, pressing it into your fingers. Surprise fills your gaze, and her eyes twinkle, a bittersweet smile crossing her face.

“For Castor,” she says, and your heart swells at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you smile, looking up, “He’ll love it.”

M.K. stands in the back, watching you with a guilty expression, and you force yourself not to project your anger at Pilgrim onto him.

“You should go see Castor before we leave, he’ll want to say goodbye as well,” you direct at Nix, her eyes filling with understanding as you glance back at M.K..

“Of course,” she replies softly. You give her one last nod of thanks and leave the room, feeling her gaze burning into your back. You take two of the torches hanging from the walls of the castle and begin to make your way towards the room where the food is kept, keeping your footsteps light as you sneak past the guards watching the front doors.

You grab as much food as will fit into your small bag, taking enough to keep you going for a few days. The bread is stale, and there isn’t any fresh meat, but you’ll make do. You catch a glimpse of Nix from the corner of your eye as she ascends the staircase to say goodbye to Castor, and you watch her as she pauses outside the door, collecting herself before entering.

If we leave from the back of the castle and take one of the rafts that are still in repair, we should be able to evade Pilgrim’s guards, you tell yourself, standing up stiffly and leaving the room before anyone can find you.

You hurry back up the stairs, carrying the bag that is now heavy with food as you glance around the room to calculate the best escape route. Going out the back door would mean passing Pilgrim’s chambers, and you pray that he will be asleep by the time you leave.

You return to your shared bedroom, entering just as Nix is standing up to leave. “Good luck,” her eyes fill with an aching sadness as she takes one last look at Castor before exiting the small room.

“Are you ready?” you look down at Castor, mirroring the pain in his gaze. You understand how difficult this must be for him; Pilgrim was like a father to both of you, but Castor had always had a stronger connection with him, perhaps because he was the first to be brought under Pilgrim’s wing.

“Yes,” his voice is low and hoarse, and you set down the food to help him up, his teeth clenching as he forces his body to stand. 

He catches your concerned look, setting his jaw as he straightens, fingers curling around the bag of blankets. “I’m fine, let’s go,” he says forcefully, taking a step towards the door.

You stop him to place a fleeting kiss on his lips, one last reassurance that everything would be okay before following him out of the room and not looking back.

…

You watch the moon slowly fade against the morning sky as you drift across the lake, the sun’s rays peeking up from beyond the fields to wash away the stars with their warm light. You brush your fingers over Castor’s, feeling his hand resting next to yours as you let the island shrink away from you, leaving behind Pilgrim and his empty promises of Gods you no longer believe in.

The air is chilly, the sun not yet high enough in the sky to have melted the night’s frost, and you watch your breath billow out in front of you, the small clouds of air disappearing into the layer of fog that covers the water’s surface. Castor is lying down next to you, his head resting in your lap as your fingers play with his hair. He looks exhausted, but he is smiling in his somnolence, his breaths even and relaxed. So much had changed in the past few days that it feels as if you are stuck in a dream as you stare down at the boy in your arms. His sickness is still evident on his features, the dark veins running across his cheeks and the fever burning his skin reminding you of the complications you will have to face on your journey, but nothing else could matter to you as you stroke your hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and helping him drift off as your raft rocks gently beneath you. 

Your eyes raise to the brightening horizon, taking one last look at the ancient castle standing solemnly in the center of the lake, wrapped in fog and climbing towards the sky. As your raft bumps against the shore, the castle fades from view, obscured completely by the palpable mist trapped over the lake. You breathe out a long sigh, feeling your muscles relax as you finally let go of it all, your consciousness wiped clean as you are reborn with the day. This is a fresh start, a new beginning. Tabula Rasa, as Pilgrim would say. Castor’s eyes open, and you see your entire future within them, reflecting back into yours and blinding you from everything else. They are filled with rich possibilities, and for an instant, everything around you is washed clean in unearthly brilliance.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't figure out how to use italics?? Now the dialogue is fucked up.


End file.
